I sat in the library most of the time, for it was right next to my class. I sat and read Shakespeare and Thomas Hardy. I hated romance novels, what with all the heart ache and lovey-dovey talk.

And then the next disaster came around. Unable to acclimatize myself with my new syllabi, which was a whole load higher than my previous ones, I got my lowest ever in the examinations, which were held a week after I joined in. I was used to getting in the nineties. For the first time, I got sixty-two percent. I was bad at sports, fat and short, and ugly, and academics were the only thing I had going for me. And now, even that slipped through my fingers. If the marks had stopped dropping at that, maybe I would have recovered sooner. But then I failed in the class tests.

I was worse than depressed. I missed my old friends, my old school. I missed me. This strange quiet creature was not me. Never me. I had no idea how I survived the six months in the middle school. I withdrew into a shell. After a few weeks, I was unable to recognise myself. I used to get scared at the idea of going to school anymore.

And then, relief came, and I finally climbed back to my somewhat original position in academics. I got eighty-five percent in my finals. I had realised by now that people were fickle. No one cared in school, and it was useless to try and fit in with people I was sure could never accept me for who I was. I started seeing a double meaning in every gesture anyone made. I was convinced that while trying to be nice, they were laughing at me behind my back. And I wasn’t wrong. They were.

When we went on our first school trip, I was put in a room with girls who barely knew me. They tried to set me up with someone, and I believed them like a brainless duck. I had never felt so lonely before in my life. Friendless, away from home, stuck in another city with roommates who didn’t like me, and a crazy juvenile diabetic guy who thought that it was just too funny to ask me out every now and then. He even persisted after I told him to hit the road in clear, precise language, and that I wasn’t interested. It made me bitter, my experience did.

Select a previous page...

Note: Keep in mind that the From: field of the email message sent by this form will contain your email address,
and will therefore be available to the recipient. If you're not comfortable with this, please
close this window.